


reasons for walking on ceilings

by preromantics



Category: Glee
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-11
Updated: 2011-05-11
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written pre-BIOTA, based on speculation. Drunken shenanigans and the morning after. <i>“I’m mad at you,” Kurt says, untangling one hand from Blaine’s cardigan because he feels like he should let go if he’s going to be mad again or still or whatever, except his hand just lands right on Blaine’s thigh and sort of sticks there, pressing down so Blaine stops trying to figure out how his own legs work.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	reasons for walking on ceilings

**Author's Note:**

> Original LJ posting date: 2/19/11

“Hey,” Kurt says, looking away from the slow drip of soda down the wall across from him. “Hey,” he says again, because the word seems to roll off his tongue differently than usual, and it’s neat to say. Something stirs near his feet, so he looks down, Blaine sliding upwards or sideways or some direction off the floor and into Kurt’s vision. 

“Hey,” Blaine says, his eyebrows pulling together for a second. “I was walking.”

Kurt, at some point, is pretty sure he was laughing at how intoxicated Blaine was and then for a while he wasn’t laughing at all but staring at the wall and then there was soda on the wall and now he can’t really remember what he wasn’t laughing at. He’s pretty sure everybody else was laughing and that Rachel was sort of petting his head at one point and bringing him more wine coolers and Blaine was rolling on the floor. 

“Walking?” Kurt asks, because he just saw Blaine on the floor and generally people don’t walk on their backs. Except for crabs, maybe, except they don’t actually walk on their backs, but humans who are trying to walk like crabs walk with their backs facing the ground. Brittany would probably understand. Brittany isn’t generally the person Kurt goes to for information but right now it seems like a valid option.

“On the ceiling,” Blaine says, swaying close to Kurt on his knees, just as Kurt is about to turn away to look for Brittany. 

Kurt looks up and then back down at Blaine in front of him, too close to his face so he has to squint. 

“You can’t walk on the ceiling,” Mike says, from beside them, scooting over on the floor. 

There are more people on the floor, Kurt realizes. Mike scoots especially close to Blaine, Tina seemingly somehow surgically attached to his ankle, coming along with him. 

Blaine wobbles in front of Kurt’s face for a moment before twisting around too fast and toppling over a little, right into Kurt’s chest with too much weight all at once, except Blaine doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Yes,” Blaine says. “Yes you can.” 

From what Kurt gathers while trying to push Blaine off his chest, Mike takes this as a sort of challenge. (Kurt gets distracted when he figures out he can use his hands on Blaine to push him away, because once his hands are on Blaine’s cardigan his fingers sort of involuntarily scrunch up in the material and then he’s sort of pulling Blaine closer instead of pushing him away, and when he looks up over Blaine’s shoulder, Mike is on his back with his legs up in the air and his eyes half-closed, staring at the ceiling.) 

“Whoa,” Mike says. 

“Told you,” Blaine says, and Kurt hooks his chin all the way over Blaine’s shoulder to see what his face looks like, triumphant and grinning, because it seems like the only direction Kurt can move is forward and closer to Blaine.

Mike looks like he’s bicycling in the air, and Kurt watches in amusement for a moment before he turns his head again to look up at Blaine’s jaw, which is close, which seems like a good opportunity for reasons Kurt can’t quite puzzle out, but also like a Bad Idea. 

“Aerobics time!” Rachel yells, somewhere behind them and way too loudly. 

“Aeroabias!” Blaine echoes, less loud but more enthusiastically than Kurt feels is called for. 

“Wrong,” Kurt says, right against Blaine’s ear because it’s neatly level with his mouth, and Kurt isn’t actually sure if he means it’s wrong to have aerobics time or if he’s trying to correct Blaine, because he’s pretty sure 'aeroabias' is not a word.

Rachel rolls in from somewhere behind Kurt, actually sort of rolls over on the floor like some sort of green blur and presses in next to Mike and the wall and Blaine and Kurt and lays on her back to do the ceiling-walk bicycle thing. 

Kurt feels kind of like frowning when he sees Rachel right in front of Blaine, and he also feels sort of upset, like he sometimes used to feel around Rachel when she’d get all the solos or she’d come into practice in a particularly horrible sweater with a knitted clown on it or something. 

Blaine seems intent on untucking his knees while still leaning against Kurt, though Kurt isn’t sure if maybe Blaine is meaningfully still leaning against Kurt, which would be nice, or if he’s sort of stuck because Kurt can’t unwrap his fingers from Blaine’s soft cardigan. Blaine makes a face that Kurt can see sideways, his lips pressed together in concentration or something and oh, lips, Kurt was not laughing earlier because --

“I’m mad at you,” Kurt says, untangling one hand from Blaine’s cardigan because he feels like he should let go if he’s going to be mad again or still or whatever, except his hand just lands right on Blaine’s thigh and sort of sticks there, pressing down so Blaine stops trying to figure out how his own legs work. 

“Mad,” Kurt repeats, because Blaine seems less distracted with his legs.

“I know,” Blaine says, drawing out the word until it’s not a word anymore. “Don’t be mad.”

“You kissed Rachel,” Kurt says, his eyes closing for a second because he remembers it being awful. 

“He did!” Rachel says in front of them, and Kurt can’t see her face, just her legs and feet, and he’s kind of glad. “You kissed me, shouldn’t have done that.” She pokes out a foot and it ends up against the side of Blaine’s face, tapping him. 

“S’okay,” Rachel continues, in a slurred sort of sing-song voice, “lots of people want to kiss me on the mouth.” 

“I don’t want to,” Tina says, sitting in front of Mike now and pressing on his feet to make them go faster. Kurt looks away after a second, because it looks too weird and he’s trying not to focus on Rachel. 

“Now I’m walking in  _space_ ,” Mike says, voice awed and ignoring them all, his legs speeding up as Tina presses on them.

“Everybody needs more wine coolers!” Rachel says, even though Kurt is trying to work out something to say about her kissing his Blaine -- boy -- person he brought and is currently wrapped around. “I’m the host! I’ll get them.”

Rachel makes no movement to get up, though, and Kurt is momentarily distracted by trying to figure out how many wine coolers he had already and if he needs another. 

“Three,” he says, because he’s pretty sure that’s the number.

“Five,” Blaine says, turning so his jaw bumps against Kurt’s nose.

“Five what?” Kurt asks, because he’s also pretty sure he didn’t remember to talk about what he was counting. 

For a moment Blaine looks genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know,” he says, “you said a number so I said one.” He grins, after, bumping his chin back into Kurt’s nose.

“Ten!” Rachel shouts, flailing out her legs away from the ceiling and back towards Blaine and Kurt, and Kurt tries to pull Blaine backwards but his arms don’t seem to work quickly enough because he barely has time to pull his head off Blaine’s shoulder before Rachel kicks Blaine right in the face. 

“Ow,” Blaine says. “You kicked me.”

Rachel doesn’t sit up or seem to notice, but her legs fall down to the ground again. 

“She kicked me,” Blaine repeats, turning towards Kurt.

“Yes, well, you deserved it a little,” Kurt says, and then feels bad because Blaine starts to frown. “For the kissing.”

There is movement to Kurt’s side again, footsteps that Kurt can feel, and when he looks up he sees Finn looking down at them all. 

“You,” Blaine says, more slurred then before and sort of different, “are really tall.”

“You’re bleeding,” Finn says, pointing down, and Kurt leans around to look at Blaine’s face and the blood there, which isn’t good at all. 

“Rachel,” Finn says, sounding way more sober than all of them on the floor, which must be because of his size, because Kurt feels fuzzy like his brain is the material on Blaine’s cardigan. “Rachel get up, you’re kicking people.”

“You can’t tell me what to do because I’m not --” Rachel starts, but Finn leans down and sort of pulls her up and she cuts herself off and stands, leaning against Finn and looking down at Blaine. 

“Kicked,” Blaine says, “in the face.” He tries to point at his nose but somehow the hand he pulls up is connected to Kurt’s hand, and Kurt isn’t sure when that happened or who did it but it makes his whole arm warm all at once. 

“You’re bleeding,” Rachel says, looking suddenly stern, “stop, you can’t bleed on the carpet.”

“I don’t think I can stop,” Blaine says, which Kurt thinks is pretty fair, because most people can’t just stop bleeding, except for maybe superheroes, and Kurt never really paid attention to superheroes anyway, so maybe not. Blaine probably isn’t one.

“Kurt,” Finn says, in the same level and not fuzzy voice, “go help.”

Kurt doesn’t really understand the part where Finn is telling him what to do because Kurt knows how to do things on his own very well, but he works at untwisting himself from Blaine anyway so he can figure out a way to stop Blaine from bleeding. He might bleed on part of Kurt before the carpet and Kurt does not like getting blood out of clothes. 

  
-

  
Getting untangled is easy compared to walking through the room, because when Kurt stands he realizes there are people on the floor and in the way and also in corners doing things Kurt isn’t sure he doesn’t actually want to squint harder to see. 

Blaine seems more efficient at navigating than he was at sitting on the floor, though, and he helps lead Kurt with their hands still together until they get to a door. 

“Stairs!” Rachel calls, which Kurt plainly sees when they go through the doorway, a light on at the top of the stairs, hopefully indicating a bathroom. 

Stairs seem trickier for Blaine, which Kurt understands, because he ends up misjudging the distance from the floor to the first step and ending up halfway on the second step and almost falling backwards, except Blaine catches him with his free hand pressed against Kurt’s back, his fingers under the edge of Kurt’s shirt and pressing into his skin. 

They manage the stairs, even though Kurt thinks it takes much longer than it should, and he says, “Three,” when they walk into the bathroom, just to remind himself of how many wine coolers he probably drank, because the number seems so small. 

“Twenty billion,” Blaine says back, drawing out the word billion and then sort of humming it until the note fades away entirely.

“If you had twenty billion wine coolers, you’d be dead,” Kurt informs him, realizing belatedly that in order to fit through the doorway to the bathroom one of them will have to go in first instead of both going in at the same time, since they’ve gotten stuck three times without noticing, just walking and then backing out and then doing it again.

“Why would I have twenty bil-- why would I do that?” Blaine asks, a little thickly because he’s still bleeding. 

Kurt shrugs against the doorframe. If Blaine could read his mind it would make everything so much easier, because then Blaine would have known weeks ago that he could have grinned at Kurt and then pressed him up against the wall in one of Dalton’s hallways and made out with him. And he also would have known lots of things and probably a lot of things Kurt didn’t want him to know, like things he thought about in the shower. Actually, it would probably be bad if Blaine could read minds. 

“You should go in first,” Kurt says, pointing, because they are still in the doorway.

Blaine grins wide again. “You are such a gentleman,” he says.

Which is probably backwards, but Kurt feels the corners of his mouth turn up anyway, pleased. He steps in after Blaine and looks at him, frowning at the blood. “Does it feel broken?” Kurt asks.

“I used to get nosebleeds all the time,” Blaine says, shaking his head, “this just feels funny.” He turns and peers into the mirror and Kurt watches him for a second before turning to the roll of toilet paper nearby. 

“Turn around,” he says, once he’s gathered a large amount in his hand. 

Blaine keeps looking at his face in the mirror, though, one hand up and poking the side of his nose. “It looks so weird,” he says, again drawing out the last word. “My face.” 

Kurt sighs and steps closer so he can reach a hand out and turn Blaine around. He feels less fuzzy than before but also less sad than he felt earlier. 

“Tilt your head back,” he says, because that seems to be the thing that people do with nosebleeds, though Kurt has never really had one. Blaine does and Kurt mops up some of the blood on his face and then steadies his hand with his other hand on Blaine’s chest, since it helps and the warmth under Kurt's palm feels nice.

Blaine reaches up to take the tissue from him after a second and press it to his own nose, so Kurt drops his hand, but keeps his other hand on Blaine’s chest, fingers folded under his cardigan and into the shirt underneath, the material not as soft but still smooth and warm, Blaine’s skin right underneath. Kurt rubs his fingers there for something to do while they wait for Blaine’s nose to stop bleeding, interested in the way it makes the pads of his fingers extra hot, so hot he feels like he might be burning Blaine through his shirt. 

Below them Kurt can hear the distorted sounds of music, and possibly another round of karaoke, which makes Kurt feel vaguely nauseated. “Hey,” he says, looking away from his own hand on Blaine’s chest and up towards his face, where Blaine has his neck tipped back, a long, distracting line of skin. “Hey, why?” 

Blaine looks down slowly, taking his hand away from his face and then lightly feeling at his nose for a second before focusing on Kurt. 

“Why what?” Blaine asks. “Why you, why are you so -- so you?”

“What?” Kurt asks, because that’s not what he asked and he’s not sure what exactly that meant, but he can’t -- just, “No. Why didn’t you kiss me?”

Which is not what Kurt meant to actually say, although it seems reasonable and right but he was going to ask something different that still meant the same thing.

“Oh,” Blaine says, leaning down and tilting his head like it’s easier to look at Kurt that way. 

Kurt looks up at Blaine just because Blaine is looking down at him, back lit by the lights bordering the edges of the bathroom mirror. “The bottle,” Blaine says, “it wasn’t pointed at you.” 

Kurt frowns, because, no, it wasn’t, except. 

“It should’ve been at you,” Blaine says, nodding. “Wanted it to be at you, actually. Of course I did.” 

“You make it sound obvious,” Kurt says, quiet and mostly to himself, because the vague and mildly horrific memories he has pre-too many wine coolers of Blaine and kissing and Rachel really don't make Blaine's statement very obvious. 

Blaine makes a face, his eyebrows going up, and he turns around towards the counter, breaking the mutual eye contact that Kurt felt was definitely important in some manner. 

“I always want bottles at you,” Blaine says, only half making sense, and he's not really grinning with his mouth but his eyes are bright and serious when he looks back at Kurt, extending his hand, fingers wrapped around a bottle of hairspray.

“Are you stealing hair product from the Berry’s bathroom?” Kurt asks, puzzled and also distracted by the curl of Blaine’s fingers around the long can. He glances up at Blaine’s hair, lightly styled and not slicked back and frowns at it. “Don’t use it now.”

“I’m --” Blaine starts, and stops to shake the can a little at Kurt’s face. “No, it’s a bottle!” 

“It’s a can,” Kurt says. 

“It’s pointing at you,” Blaine says, frowning along with Kurt, now. “This went better in my head I think, just then.” 

“My head --” Kurt starts, but stops, because he can’t actually seem to articulate the state of his own head. 

Blaine takes the can away from Kurt’s face and sets it on the counter again, moving right into Kurt’s space. “I want,” Blaine says slowly, his face a little scrunched up like he’s really trying to think about something, “to be kissing you all the time. Except then I don’t know how to tell you and also if I should at all. I made a list about it, in my head.” 

Kurt blinks, staring at Blaine in a way he probably thinks is unattractive. 

“You’re Kurt,” Blaine says, grinning around Kurt’s name, “I like you. Hey.”

Kurt opens his mouth but Blaine leans forward, his face becoming a blur until Kurt has to close his eyes, and Blaine’s lips catch just the barest corner of Kurt’s mouth, a quick, dry press that Blaine leans into and then leans away from, his mouth curled into an even wider grin. 

“Not like that,” Blaine says, quiet and low, and he leans back in but presses his lips against Kurt’s jaw and then drags them down, still not kissing him but sending little hot sparks across Kurt’s skin, and Kurt leans into his mouth, bending his neck back and sliding his hands around Blaine’s back, because, yes, this, something -- anything. 

Blaine makes a small, low noise that Kurt has never heard before and immediately wants to hear all the time, bending his neck down to nuzzle at Kurt’s neck with his nose, breathing warm air against the skin there.

“So many things,” Blaine says, and Kurt feels it and hears it and he doesn’t exactly know what Blaine means, but in a vague sense he sort of does, and he feels heady and light with Blaine blowing lightly against his neck, Kurt’s hands hot and scrunching in the material of Blaine’s cardigan over his lower back.

Kurt wants so many things, too, to press Blaine against the bathroom counter and for Blaine to back him up against the wall behind them and actually kiss him, and to get to more skin, more everything. One of Blaine’s legs slips between his own, pressing, and Kurt lets out a tiny, involuntary groan and Blaine echoes, louder, and Kurt wants to hear all of the noises Blaine can make, noises that Kurt can cause himself, and --

Kurt is shaken out of his thoughts and out of the path of his fingers, sliding up under Blaine’s shirt, by a voice from the door. “Hi -- Hey, oh, hi,” Finn says, and Kurt looks at him too fast and things spin.

Finn looks too big in the door frame and he also looks really awkward, and Kurt feels like pushing him out and curling up in the bathtub with Blaine and making out, especially with the way Blaine is still nuzzling against his neck, his lips dragging down the skin there dry and hot.

“I came to get you,” Finn says, looking way over Kurt’s head and talking to the air vent. “We have to get back home.”

“We can probably get Blaine inside, too,” Finn adds, looking increasingly awkward when Kurt can’t figure out how to say anything. “He could leave in the morning.”

Blaine leans his head up from Kurt’s neck and grins. “Thanks,” he says, talking in the general direction of the towel rack and not at Finn. 

“Okay then,” Finn says, turning away from the doorway. “Just -- we should all go this way.” 

Kurt leans away from Blaine even though he really doesn’t want to and Blaine just leans with him, keeping them mostly pressed together. “You are better than wine coolers,” he says, low and soft and Kurt feels his toes curl in his shoes. 

“You have had too many wine coolers,” Kurt says back, instead of all the other things he wants to do and say. 

Blaine leans in and grins against his neck for a second instead of answering, though, before leaning back and grabbing Kurt’s arm. “Lead,” he says, pointing with too much force.

Kurt rolls his eyes, but that makes everything spotty for a second, so he focuses and then starts to walk, remembering to make sure they go out of the bathroom one at a time and not together to avoid getting stuck.

  
-

  
Getting to the house is mostly uneventful, despite the fact Kurt nearly throws up in the car, and Finn has to help Kurt support Blaine down the stairs into Kurt’s room, since going down stairs seems sort of impossible for Blaine and only mildly tricky for Kurt. 

“Finn,” Blaine says when they reach the bottom of the stairs, turning and looking seriously up at Finn. “Finn, I think I made out with your girlfriend, I’m sorry.”

“She’s not my --” Finn starts, but shakes his head. “Yeah, that was weird, but uh -- that’s okay.”

“No it wasn’t,” Kurt says, louder than he means to, considering he was only going to say it in his head. 

“No,” Blaine says, turning to Kurt with the same serious look, but drawing out the vowel for too long. “Should have been you. That was silly.”

Kurt scrunches up his noise a tiny bit but can’t help but let a really small smile escape, Blaine sort of wavering on his legs and then slumping against Kurt with his arms thrown around Kurt’s neck. 

“Well,” Finn says, “I’m just going to go -- upstairs and sleep and stuff.” 

Kurt waves at him from behind Blaine’s back, or, he tries to move his arm in a wave but it feels more like a flap, and he figures Finn gets the general picture.

“There is a bed,” Blaine says, chin hooked over Kurt’s shoulder, “that’s handy.” 

Kurt doesn’t think about all the ways a bed is handy, not at all. It takes longer than usual to navigate the short distance to the side of Kurt’s bed, and Kurt barely spares a passing thought to his nightly skin regimen, because Blaine is still wrapped around him, padding backwards over the carpet and stopping when he hits the edge of the mattress. 

“Kurt,” Blaine says, leaning his neck back to look right at Kurt, eyes a little squinty, “should I sleep on the floor?”

“What? No,” Kurt says. 

Blaine’s face lights up and he slides backwards onto the bed, unwrapping his arms from around Kurt and using them to hoist himself all the way up. 

Kurt watches as Blaine stretches out on the mattress, laying diagonally and taking up the entire thing. Maybe  _he_  should sleep on the floor, because he can’t not stare at the patch of skin on Blaine’s stomach where his layers are rucked up, and he barely bites back a suggestion that Blaine take off his shirt so he doesn’t wrinkle it.

On the bed, Blaine is frowning again. “Hey,” he says, “hey, hey, come here.”

Kurt only hesitates for a second. He’s a little drunk but he isn’t stupid, and he’s being invited into bed by the singular object of his bed-related fantasies. He does, however, shrug off his jacket first, tossing it over Blaine’s face and then climbing onto the bed, trying to fit himself into the little triangle of space not occupied by Blaine. 

“This is yours,” Blaine says, pushing the jacket over onto Kurt, except he misses and it falls on the floor. He rolls over and Kurt fits himself into the larger amount of space, staring up at the ceiling for a few seconds and thinking about ceiling walking until Blaine shifts against his side, throwing an arm over Kurt’s chest.

“Always thought I’d have you in my bed,” Blaine says after a second, low and quiet against the side of Kurt’s shoulder.

“We’re in mine, though,” Kurt points out, and Blaine laughs in the same low tone and nuzzles his nose against Kurt’s neck. 

“It’s nice,” Blaine says, pressing closer, and Kurt melts back against him, because yes, why not, he can, and -- 

“You’re the best,” Blaine adds, right in Kurt’s ear. “My favorite.” He repeats the word until Kurt presses his shoulders back, rolling them against Blaine's chest. 

Blaine is warm, heavy, and Kurt fits against him in all sorts of perfect ways that he doesn’t have the brain capacity to fully list. Kurt thinks about too many things all at once, eyes closed and wanting to shift and grab a throw blanket or something to cover them both, but unable to make himself move out of Blaine’s hold, just in case Blaine might not roll back towards him after. 

“Hey,” Kurt starts, quiet and soft and the beginning of a hundred sentences he doesn’t know how to say, but Blaine makes a sleepy, snuffling noise against his neck and Kurt closes his mouth.

Kurt falls asleep after Blaine with a sleepy and pleased sort of smile, acutely conscious of the weight of Blaine’s arm over his waist and the light press of his fingers against Kurt’s stomach, warm and real. 

  
-

  
Kurt wakes up with a jolt, because someone yelps in his ear. He twists around, hot and stiff and not able to move very far, something large and heavy weighing him down along his entire side. 

Kurt is momentarily shocked, blinking his eyes open faster than he can focus, meeting Blaine’s scrunched up face. “Ow,” Blaine says, scratchy and low, “you hit me.”

“What?” Kurt asks, because he’s still processing the fact Blaine is in his bed and also trying to figure out which limbs in their complicated position belong to him and which belong to Blaine.

“You hit me when you were sleeping and -- and Rachel hit me, too,” Blaine says, one hand coming up to brush his nose and then wincing, “Why is everyone hitting me?” 

Kurt looks at Blaine while he tries to wake up a little more -- Blaine looks just as sleepy and un-awake as Kurt feels, little red lines from the folds in his shirt and cardigan layered across his neck and the little bit of collar that Kurt can see, his hair less in place than Kurt has ever seen, a few fly-away strands falling across his forehead and fanning out on Kurt’s pillow. 

Blaine is in Kurt’s bed. 

“Sorry,” Kurt says, because Blaine is frowning and squinting at him and also in his bed. Kurt lets a grin slide over his face, sleepy and slow. 

“You’re delighting in my pain,” Blaine says, though he looks less sad, and suddenly looks like -- something else. “My head hurts, too. I don’t want to know what happened, do I?”

Kurt frowns at that. “You don’t remember?”

Blaine makes a light sound, half of a laugh. “I do,” he says, kind of groaning around the words, and Kurt feels it all along his side when Blaine stretches. “Do you know why I never accept those invites to the weekend Warbler parties?”

Kurt shakes his head and it propels him further on the pillow, close enough that his noise almost brushes against Blaine’s cheek.

Blaine grins at him, lopsided and slow. “Well now you know,” he says.

“You weren’t too bad,” Kurt offers, and can’t help but grin back just a little. He has the barest of a headache, low in his temples, and Blaine probably has a worse one, making him squinty and sleepy looking, but Kurt can hear Blaine’s little whispers from the night before like ghosts of air against his neck, and he’s feeling surprisingly fine about the whole thing.

Blaine makes a noncommittal vague sort of noise in response, and Kurt is left staring into Blaine's increasingly less sleep-heavy eyes, looking down to trace the curve of Blaine's bottom lip in his head.

The sudden dip of Blaine’s head and drag of his dry lips down Kurt’s neck is unexpected but good, so good, echoes of the night before crawling up Kurt’s skin with even more clarity, but what he wants, really wants, is Blaine’s lips on his own, not on his neck, not on other people, and not just on his lips, but everywhere. 

Kurt tips his neck up but rolls a little, trying to shuffle down on the bed, opening his eyes at the shift of Blaine away from his side and the pillow to find Blaine hovering over him. 

“I taste like cheap wine,” Blaine says. There is a striped line of sun peaking through Kurt’s blinds and the sheer hangings, spread right over Blaine’s lips. 

“So do I,” Kurt says. 

“I always imagined a lot more minty freshness,” Blaine says, bending down lower, and Kurt tips his head back against the pillow. 

“You thought this through?” Kurt asks, one corner of his mouth tipping up.

“Every day since Valentine’s,” Blaine says, and he ducks his head for a second, “and a little bit before that. You, Kurt Hummel, deserve planning.”

“I prefer lists over planning,” Kurt says, trying for conversational over the rush of white noise in his ears, Blaine’s breath warm over his lips, but he sounds a little breathless. 

Blaine pulls back from Kurt’s face just as Kurt makes up his mind to raise his face enough to meet Blaine’s lips, and Kurt lets out a small noise of frustration that he doesn’t mean to. “I wasn’t under the impression it was that hard to get a kiss from you, judging by last night,” he says, fast and a tiny bit sarcastic but also a tiny bit not. His eyes close briefly when Blaine settles his weight over Kurt’s hips.

“You diverted me,” Blaine says. “Now I feel obligated to make a list for you.”

Kurt rolls his eyes and leans his head back into the pillow. “You are seriously going to get up and write a list? Because if you do --”

“No,” Blaine says, cutting Kurt off with a low laugh and sliding down to the bottom of Kurt’s mattress. “No, I thought I could do more of a show and tell list.” 

When Kurt looks down at Blaine’s face, Blaine looks more awake, eyes heavy but dark and serious, his mouth twisted in a way that makes Kurt want to roll his shoulders back against the sheets.

“I have a mental list of all the places you should be kissed,” Blaine says, “and I was waiting for the right moment to plan it all out, except then I kind of spectacularly almost messed all that up last night, didn’t I?"

“Almost,” Kurt agrees, because the vague memory he has of being unhappy and then being force fed wine coolers by Rachel, who also almost messed up lots of things and then being, whatever, less unhappy and curled against Blaine's back, is confusing and not really something Kurt wants to dwell on, especially with the interesting way Blaine is looking at Kurt’s socks. 

Blaine ducks his head down for a second, hands moving to Kurt’s nearest foot, fitting his fingers against the arch. “If this is completely creepy, you can tell me,” Blaine says. 

Kurt curls his toes impatiently. He has Blaine in his bed and they just slept together, or, woke up together at least, and he’s not going to really say anything that will make Blaine stop on whatever trajectory he has going on. 

Blaine waits for a moment and then presses his fingers into Kurt’s foot, quick and brief, and slips his sock off. He turns and does the same to the other foot, curling his fingers around Kurt’s bare ankle and pressing his lips to the small dip there. “One,” he says, right into the skin, and then, “two,” when he turns for Kurt’s other ankle. 

Blaine leans back up Kurt’s legs when he let’s go of his foot, pausing with his hands on the loops of Kurt’s jeans, while Kurt just stares down at him, wondering what just happened, the skin on his ankles burning in a pleasant way. “Can I?” he asks, pulling up at the loops, “just the jeans.”

“I feel like we’re doing this backwards,” Kurt says, nodding, mostly to say anything that isn’t, yes, take off everything. His voice a little scratchy but not with sleep anymore, and he doesn’t really care at all how they do anything because Blaine is going to kiss him soon, Kurt can tell, and the thought of that and the way Blaine’s hands are running palm-down over his hips is making his stomach knot up, his spine hot.

Blaine’s grin turns different again, looking down at Kurt’s stomach and running his fingers lightly over the line of skin between the hem of Kurt’s shirt and the waistband of his jeans. 

Kurt is acutely aware of the location of Blaine’s fingers, the light but all too heavy press of his knuckles on Kurt’s button fly, fingers carefully undoing each button, and Kurt’s a little hard just from waking up, but now -- he flushes when Blaine looks up and meets his eyes, barely bites back a tiny noise when Blaine runs his tongue out along his own bottom lip, hands curling under the waist of Kurt’s jeans and pulling them down. 

Kurt lips his hips to help and Blaine’s eyes follow the motion, closing briefly while Kurt watches, interested. Blaine slides Kurt’s jeans off in a slow drag, sliding right back down Kurt’s legs as he goes, settling on his knees between Kurt’s calves and dragging his eyes up the length of Kurt’s body to get to his face again. 

“Three,” Blaine says, curling his fingers under Kurt’s calf and lifting his left leg, looking away from Kurt’s barely-seeing stare and pressing his lips to the crook of Kurt’s knee. “Four,” Blaine says, repeating the gesture on the other side. 

Blaine shifts again, rolling to the side of Kurt for a brief second before moving so he has a knee on each side of Kurt’s lower thighs, taking an audible breath and then grinning lopsided and momentarily not serious at all. 

“Five --” Blaine starts, but only looks down, and Kurt follows his eyes to his own boxers, the evidence that he’s nearly more than half hard something he’s trying not to think too much about. “Five,” Blaine says, leaning down until his face is only a few inches from the cotton of Kurt’s boxers, voice low and suddenly completely serious, “I think we’ll save that number,” and Kurt can almost feel the heat from his breath, eyes rolling back a little. 

Blaine doesn’t move very far, next, instead slipping two fingers under the waistband of Kurt’s boxers to raise the material a little, sliding it down low on Kurt's hips to reveal the red marks left by the elastic, ducking down and barely calling out the next number before Kurt feels the drag of his lips, not dry anymore, right along his hipbone and the marks. Blaine switches to Kurt’s other hip, “seven,” and lingers, his tongue darting out in a way that makes Kurt roll his hips just just a little and bite at his own bottom lip.

Blaine moves up, hands following the line of Kurt’s hips up to his ribs, fingers working quickly and making neat folds in Kurt’s shirt as he goes, folding the material up to the base of Kurt’s neck and then tugging at it until Kurt leans up and watches it fall to the floor on the bed beside them, not ready when Blaine whispers, “eight and nine,” and presses a kiss on each of Kurt’s nipples, dragging his tongue over each briefly, making Kurt’s back arch up.

“Ten,” Blaine says, moving upwards, kissing along each side of Kurt’s collarbone and then his shoulders and then along his jaw, murmuring numbers for each one, “sixteen, seventeen, eighteen,” until he’s kissing at Kurt’s forehead, avoiding everywhere but his lips, and Kurt can’t take it, because he’s been  _waiting_. He reaches up with his arms, unsure of what to do with them except curl his fingers into the sheets before, but now using them to curl one hand through the mess of Blaine’s soft hair and wrap an arm around Blaine’s back, pressing him down and pulling at his head all at once until Blaine is level right with his lips, breathing hot against them. 

“Twenty,” Kurt supplies, not surprised when his voice comes out mildly strangled, pulling Blaine down, finally,  _finally_  to his lips and groaning. Blaine’s hands move over every spot he can reach that his lips had pressed against earlier, fingers digging into Kurt’s hips briefly in a way that makes Kurt think about bruises in a way he never has before, sudden wanting surging up his spine even as Blaine’s hands pull away and run over his ribs and shoulders. His mouth is -- too much, lips slick and meeting Kurt's lips rough and then light and then rough again. It makes Kurt feels off balance, because kissing shouldn’t feel like this, he shouldn’t feel the roll of Blaine’s teeth lightly over his bottom lip all the way down his toes and through his dick, shouldn’t find the small, needy sort of little noises Blaine makes into his mouth so ridiculously hot, and yet he does. 

“You’re noisy,” Kurt says, licking at the numbness on his lips when Blaine pulls away for a second, eyes unfocused. 

“Shit,” Blaine says, “I can’t help it -- you --  _Kurt._ ” 

Kurt barely has time to register the tone in Blaine’s voice, a complete 360 from the sleep-heavy one he’d had when they’d woken up. “I like it,” Kurt says, honest and low and right against Blaine’s lips, mouth falling open and slack when Blaine’s hand runs over his cock, fingers curling over the material of Kurt’s boxers. 

“Off,” Kurt says, not a request at all but bitten out sharp just as Blaine’s lips drag down his jaw, tongue following. 

Blaine doesn’t bother with taking Kurt’s boxers off slowly, like he had with his jeans. He doesn’t even bother taking them all the way off, just pulls them down far enough so Kurt can kick them off, barely making sense of how his legs move at all. 

“Five,” Blaine groans suddenly, not coming back up for Kurt's lips and Kurt barely processes what's going on before Blaine’s mouth is on his cock, lips pressed against the head briefly before opening and swallowing and sucking and -- Kurt rolls his hips as much as he dares to, can't help but not, while he reaches down to grip at Blaine’s hair, trying not to push or pull but just tangling there.

Blaine adds a hand, curling around the base of Kurt’s cock and Kurt can’t help but jump a little, hips rolling up as he twists his head sideways so he can bite at the material of his pillowcase, trying to keep the noises that want to spill out from coming out at all. 

“Shit,” Blaine says, pulling off, his hand mostly stilling but still moving just a tiny bit, little squeezes, “Kurt, I -- we can stop, we don’t have to, it’s just -- you --”

Kurt lets the material of his pillowcase fall from his teeth, sucking in a deep breath of air to make up for forgetting to breathe. “Are you -- are you crazy, Blaine? Are you certifiably insane?” he asks, probably sounding a little hysterical because, what, why, just --

Blaine keeps his hand wrapped around but sits up, groaning somewhere low in his throat before he leans down and kisses Kurt sloppy and open-mouthed, his denim-clad knee slipping between Kurt’s legs so he can press down against Kurt’s thigh, noticeably hard through his jeans when he rolls his own hips, twisting his thumb over the head of Kurt’s dick as he does.

Kurt makes a noise when he feels Blaine against his thigh, leaning up just to slide his hand between them, knuckles running ungracefully over Blaine’s cock through his jeans before pulling his hand up to curl sort of uselessly against the waistband.

“Here,” Blaine says, groaning low into Kurt’s lips, and he falls over next to Kurt onto the mattress, his lips and hand leaving along with him, and Kurt doesn’t even bother to block the noise of protest that pulls itself out of his throat, but he turns and watches, making another noise as Blaine pulls at the fly off his own jeans, shucking them off quickly, the muscles under his thighs moving fluid and strong when the skin is bared enough for Kurt to see. 

Blaine goes to pull at his shirt, too, but Kurt reaches out and bunches the material of his shirt between his fingers, using his grip to pull Blaine back on top of him, realizing belatedly that he’s entirely unprepared to feel the brush of Blaine’s cock, bare against his own, along with the weight of Blaine’s thighs pressing together against him all at once. 

Blaine’s hand wraps around them both, mostly palming on each stroke, and he groans loud enough that Kurt reaches up to cover Blaine’s mouth with his hand, just in case, jerking his hips up into Blaine’s hand when Blaine’s tongue slips over two of his fingers, pulling them into his mouth and sucking.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, trying to spread his legs out wider, Blaine’s teeth digging into the pads of his fingers as he makes low noises in his throat. “Blaine,” Kurt repeats, higher, aching his back up and pressing his head into the mattress, Blaine following him, letting go of Kurt’s fingers and twisting his hand around both of their dicks and kissing at the exposed line of Kurt’s neck, too much all at once because Kurt comes, feels the pull down his spine and through his toes and even tight in his chest. 

He barely hears whatever Blaine is saying, or not saying, if he’s even speaking actual words, but he feels it when Blaine comes, too, his hand too much where Kurt is sensitive, Kurt’s stomach and hips damp and his own hand in a vice grip on one of Blaine’s thighs, even though he doesn’t remember putting it there. 

Blaine’s mouth stops moving along Kurt’s skin and it takes a few seconds but he sort of collapses at all once just as Kurt bonelessly melts back into the mattress. Blaine’s face fits neatly against the side Kurt’s neck, but he rolls over after only a few seconds, laying on his back and half overlapping Kurt, chest rising and falling under his shirt.

Kurt makes a pleased noise when he finally catches his breath, seconds or minutes later, curling and uncurling his toes into the blanket below.

“What are you thinking about?” Blaine asks, dry and scratchy and so sated in a way that Kurt wants to be able to hear for the rest of his life.

“You,” he says, privately triumphant in his post-orgasm glow when his voice comes out less like the blurry, everywhere, thoughts in his head. “What are you thinking about?”

“Walking on the ceiling,” Blaine says, and Kurt turns his head to the side to stare at him, laughing when he sees the way Blaine can’t even keep his face straight and knocking his elbow into Blaine’s side. Blaine raises his legs and bends them and starts to make a walking motion. Kurt watches for a second, but ends up not being able to keep his snort of laughter at bay.

“You look ridiculous,” he says, because Blaine does, dressed in layers and socks but no pants at all, his naked legs making a bicycle motion in the air.

“Do it with me,” Blaine says, turning his head to meet Kurt’s raised eyebrow with an overly dramatic pout, “come on. I’ll make out with you if you walk on the ceiling with me.” 

Kurt rolls his eyes but thinks about the making out part, and how he sort of wants to do that with Blaine until they can’t breathe anymore, so he looks away from Blaine’s triumphant grin and stares at the ceiling, lifting his legs to walk. 

Blaine curls his fingers between Kurt’s where their hands rest between them, both of them rolling their legs ridiculously towards the ceiling in tandem. “Now we’re riding together,” Blaine says, and Kurt is pretty sure he’s never pictured this in any of his post-orgasm-with-Blaine fantasies but he’s also pretty sure he wouldn’t have it any other way, especially when Blaine’s knee knocks into his own and Kurt grins up at the ceiling wider than he ever has before.

  
  
  



End file.
